


A Wonderful Caricature of Intimacy

by 221blackandwhitestripes



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Can't think of tags because I'm hungover, Canon Compliant, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Murder Husbands, Pining, Season/Series 02, Shameless Smut, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22481377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blackandwhitestripes/pseuds/221blackandwhitestripes
Summary: “I want you to plunge your knife into my stomach until I’m crying out and begging for it.”“But I think I’d prefer you kissing me instead.”
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 45
Kudos: 132





	A Wonderful Caricature of Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this ages ago and I can't remember why, but I picked it up again, so.... here you go
> 
> (Also, it was my birthday yesterday and I spent it editing this fic pls love me ahhhh)
> 
> (Might still be tipsy from last night)
> 
> (Fuck)

_Don’t hold on too tight, boy. Sometimes, you squeeze things out of your grasp._

Ed wants to consume Oswald, tear away his skin from head to toenail, see what’s still tender inside and what has rotted away. He wants to clasp his hand around Penguin’s ankle, demand each time he flies that he takes Ed with him too.

“Are you okay, friend?” Oswald asks, looking up from his morning paper.

“Fine.”

Ed imagines slipping a knife into his hand at midnight and waking him up all sudden-like just to see the damage he would do. A dagger embedded in his skull, entrails on the floor, crime scene-ing his home with one knife-twist of fate.

“Are you going to eat that?” He points to the jammed toast, glistening sweet by Ed’s elbow.

Ed wonders what would happen if he poured acid down his throat, watched him swallow and _swallow_. What would he say?

“I think I need to leave.” The bathroom is less than thirty steps away, and Ed pounds each one, locking the door behind him. God bless door locks and the way they click closed when you need it most.

The ceiling has a cold sweat, fear dripping down its sides.

“What are you going to do?” It asks.

_Water always escapes boy. No matter how you try to hold it, it always runs away._

“I don’t know.” Ed shakes his head hard, maybe it slams against the wall, who could tell? Ears ringing and heart racing, he thinks of normal things. There is a world of picket fences and blonde laughter – where Kristen’s glasses shine like beacons and the grass is far, far greener.

 _I want you, Edward,_ he hears in the distance, a conjured echo of words he’ll never hear.

Oswald would rather spill entrails across the bed than rose petals. That’s okay. Ed likes entrails.

“What’s going on?” He asks the mirror, palms pressed against the glass, breath fogging over his vision.

 _Don’t know,_ his reflection wipes the steam away, smirks. _Maybe you like him._

No.

_Maybe you want him?_

There is a world where Ed can’t control himself, where what good left inside him has burnt out, where he runs the streets with blood on his hands and a gun in his mouth. He doesn’t like that one so much.

“Edward?” Oswald’s voice calls through the door and Ed’s spine shudders.

 _See?_ The mirror laughs at him.

“Y-yes?” He calls back, knitting his fingers together like a woollen scarf.

“Is everything okay?”

No, it isn’t.

“Everything’s fine!” He gasps out, voice a high-wire he is struggling to get across.

“Would you like to come out?”

“W-what?” Come out?

Would you like to come out?

The mirror _cackles._

“You can stay in there if you like, I just want to know you’re alright,” Oswald explains through the door.

“O-oh,” Ed breathes, looking up at the mirror.

 _Go on._ The reflection shrugs. _Open it. Or are you too much of a coward?_ Its eyes harden like cannonballs.

“C-coming.” He makes it to the door, pulling it open to reveal Oswald’s concerned face.

How strange he must appear to him. An utter disappointment. A useless friend.

“Would you... like to talk about it?” Oswald asks, tilting his head in a calculated manner.

 _I don’t know, do you want to rip me open and climb inside?_ Ed doesn’t ask, instead shaking his head slowly.

“Okay, then, friend.” Oswald shrugs. “Shall we finish our meal?”

“I-I think that would be alright.” He nods and follows him back to the table. His toast is still there. Ed smiles and pushes it over to Oswald. He shoves it in his mouth without finesse, licking crumbs off his fingers with a swipe of his tongue, a spot of jam smeared across his top lip.

Ed finds he can't look away. 

“When do you head out?” Oswald’s lips ask, twisting as he swallows his mouthful.

“Soon,” He tells them, imagines them wrapped tightly around a knife, the very tip pricking the skin, smearing blood across his top lip. Perhaps he should wipe it away. 

“Ed?” He finally looks up, meeting Oswald’s eye. “Are you sure you're okay?”

He blinks. Oswald's eyes are pale like a skull.

“You have some jam…” He taps his lip.

“Oh?” Oswald’s tongue slips out, running across his lip. “Better?”

Ed’s ribs squeak like a set of rickety stairs.

“Y-yeah, you got it.” He exhales a semi-automatic, breath rattling out.

_Ring! Ring!_

Oswald smiles apologetically, answering the phone. Ed fails to suppress his sigh of relief. 

“What? No!” Ed catches his bottom lip between his teeth, bites down like it's an apple. Oswald’s eyes ignite in flame, scorching in his veins. He clutches the phone on the edge of too tight, and Ed can tell that whatever he's hearing, he's not happy about it. 

Ed should like to see Oswald tear the man apart with his teeth, wipe the blood away with his tongue, look up and say; _“Better?”_

“Listen here, you _cretin_ ,” he spits. Oswald Cobblepot is a harsh man – his teeth cut like knives, yet never sharper than his tongue. “I don’t pay you for your _delicate sensibilities_. If you can’t handle being the one holding the knife, then you will be the one _under_ it.” He laughs, a chaotic hurricane sitting at Ed’s dining table. Ed likes watching him slice a man apart with a phrase, or a well-placed word – likes to watch another’s blood spill from that wound, the terror in their eyes. He likes the way it changes Oswald’s face: eyes lit up – genuine, mouth a smile – genuine, red on his cheeks – genuine.

“Get me the information I want,” Oswald demands, smile harsh like an upside down frown, “Or _I will have you killed._ ” He sang the last line, breaking into a guffaw, eyes red ice. He hangs up, placing the phone down on the table once more.

“Sorry about that imbecile,” he sighs, meeting Ed’s gaze. “It seems the words _“Find Galavan’s lackey and torture him until he breaks,”_ are lost on some people.”

“It’s fine,” Ed replies, absent, tongue a loosened knot threatening to give way. “Really.”

Oswald smiles, reaching over to pat his hand. His heart leaps into the air, a ballerina hooked up to a cable that pulls her higher and higher, away from the stage. “Thank you, my friend.”

“I admit, I am impressed at the efficiency you have displayed in re-commandeering your men so quickly after your recovery, whilst remaining hidden,” Ed babbles, feels his cheeks flush candlelight as Oswald’s hand remains, covering his. “It’s very admirable, indeed, Mr Penguin.”

“Please,” He smiles, leans in like he's about to spout a secret, “Call me Oswald.”

Ed would like _Oswald_ to pry open his ribs and slurp up his heart.

“Oswald,” he amends quickly. 

Oswald pats his hand one last time before letting go. His skin burns at the loss.

“Five minutes past nine o'clock,” Oswald notes, looking at his wristwatch. Well – Ed’s wristwatch, but he likes the thought of Oswald having laid claim to it now. “You'll be expected at the precinct soon, I suspect.”

Edward Nygma was expected five minutes ago.

“I'll stay for another five,” He states, “Then I'll take the car.”

Oswald shrugs. “Sounds good to me.” He takes the morning paper once more, snapping it open. “Shall I hand you the crossword puzzle?”

“Ooh, yes please,” Ed accepts, taking the offered page gladly. Mr. Penguin is perfect, he decides. 

The bathroom mirror’s laughs echo through the room.

***

Edward ends up staying late to make up for the morning, but he considers it a forgivable trade as he trudges up the stairs of the old Grundy building. 

The metal door of his apartment is locked when he reaches it, not budging when he tries to pull it open. Ed hasn't locked it since Oswald’s recovery. Penguin must have locked it himself. 

“It's just me, Oswald,” He calls, hand delving into his pocket in search of his keys.

“Well, you're just on time-” He rolls the door open and his jaw drops to the threshold. “I was just about to start.”

Oswald stands in the centre of the room, a knife in his hand and a bullet in his smile. At his feet, a man kneels, bowed in prayer, chin scraping Ed’s hardwood floor. His arms are chicken-trussed, rope tied proficiently with gaps for bruised skin to peak out on display. He has no shirt, no trousers, only a thin pair of briefs.

Ed trails his eyes up Oswald’s body, taking in the rolled-up sleeves and the _Cooking is a Science!_ apron. Then back down, to the man who bows before him. 

Ed should like to be that man.

“Who is this?” He swallows – blinks away the fantasies that have already built behind his eyelashes. Oh, but to kneel for a king, how thrilling it would be. “W-what-” He clears his throat, “What’s happening?”

“Say hello to Ed, Duncan.” Oswald waves his hand down to his worshipper.

Duncan says something, muffled by the gag in his mouth. Ed’s toes curl.

“M-may I join?” He asks, wishes he wasn’t so breathless, wishes Oswald was happy to make him that way.

“Of course!” Penguin chirps, eyes flashing like the neon sign outside. “I thought you might have been held up at work. I waited, but you’ve been a while. You’re lucky I didn’t start without you.”

_“You’re lucky I didn’t start without you,” Oswald says, thorny rose caught between his teeth, fingers playing with petals that dance at his touch. He lays back, splits his thighs apart like he might split skin. “Come, join me.”_

“L-let me get situated first,” Ed stammers, feet already scrambling across the floor to get away. “I – uh – it has been a long day.”

“Of course, my friend.” He can feel Oswald’s eyes on him as he stalks to the bathroom, pulling his bag off over his head and setting it on a kitchen chair along the way. Once the bathroom door is shut, he undresses quickly, keeps his eyes down on his clothes and not upon the mirror. Turns the shower on steaming-hot just to make the reflection fog up.

 _I’m still here,_ it chuckles anyway, gurgling behind the steam like a witch’s pot. _No matter what you do, I’ll always be here._

Ed steps into the shower and doesn’t notice when the water burns his skin, only notices how well a shower drowns out the sounds outside.

He washes away the GCPD’s back-aching hold of him – scrubs away the officers’ bad breath, pastry crumbs and dirty words. A hand clasped around his ankle continuously tugs at him, urging him to hurry up already, to go out into the living room so the fun can really begin.

With his skin pink and the shower’s glass fogged all the way, Ed lets himself give in, wrapping a towel around his hips so he can change into something more… fitting.

“Will this do?” he asks, stretching his arms out wide.

“An interesting choice, wearing a white shirt,” Oswald points out with a knife which should be plunging into flesh, pounding out a stranger’s soul with each mighty stroke.

“I-I–” His mind trips over the train tracks of his thoughts, stumbling to right itself. “I don’t actually like it. Kristen bought it for me.” He shrugs, watches Oswald’s eyes get darker and brighter at the same time. “I want to see the stains.” _Yours, mine, his: whichever is fine._

Oswald grins, voice magnetic. “Then let’s get started, shall we?"

His toes curl, heart hammering. He can only nod, letting that magnetic force pull him forward until he’s standing by Oswald’s side. 

Penguin is a raging fire and Ed is addicted to the heat.

“H-how do we know Duncan?” He asks, slips his tongue out to drag across his bottom lip.

“He is the young man I mentioned this morning,” Oswald tells him. “Galavan’s _rubbish collector_.”

He nods, recalling this morning quite vividly.

Oswald sighs. “It seems that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

Ed’s fist clenches. He’ll never disappoint Oswald like that thug – whoever he was. Torture is an art, and a man who cannot appreciate the finer things is no friend of Penguin. “I hope you don’t object to my taking part.”

“Oh no, I prefer it.” He smiles and it’s bliss like rose petals or blood-covered entrails. “Now,” he turns to the specimen at his feet, back arching over as he peers down, “Shall we begin?”

Ed makes himself useful, drags a chair over from the dining table, arranges the stranger pretty like a posy, legs and arms spread out for whatever Oswald wishes to inflict upon them.

_Ed would spread himself out just like this, bare the pulse-points and veins for Oswald to see. He could run his knife along his skin like a clothing hem, carve out strange patterns on his chest, a MINE over his heart. Then Ed could pull him in and they’ll taste the blood together._

He swallows back the want and steps to the side to watch.

Oswald tilts his head and he is a tiger in the jungle, admiring his prey.

Ed clasps his hands tight because he isn’t ready for this.

“You,” He steps forward. “Are going to tell me everything you know.” Another step. “And I’m going to make sure of it.” Another step, and Ed’s spine snaps like a twig as Oswald throws him a glance. “Now, shall we begin?”

“Yes.” Hollow and desperate.

_You’re giving yourself away._

His vision swims as Oswald lowers himself to his knees, pulling his protesting leg with him onto a cushion he must have poached from the sofa. “Watch closely, Ed.”

Like he could look away.

Oswald Cobblepot is a King, and sometimes kings require knighthoods, and sometimes they require executions.

The first finger drops heavily to the ground and Ed chews on his thumb to stifle the thrill.

They follow a pattern, fall heavily until the hand is just a stump. Then Oswald leans forward, a hand steadying him on the unworthy man’s thigh as he asks, “Is there something you would like to share with me?”

Ed shivers, feels fingers ghost against his thigh, feels it spill in his brain; _yes – my bed, my knife, my lips, my life. Just **take**._

Oswald stands, chuckling softly. “You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

 _ **Take**_.

He waves his knife and the fingers disappear. Ed briefly imagines gathering them all up and making a bouquet, wonders if Oswald would mind or if he’d know that to a Nygma, fingernails and rose petals might as well be the same.

Oswald kicks a finger over to him and he bends down and picks it up. He’ll take any scrap of this he can.

He watches as Oswald braces himself with a hand on each of _Duncan’s_ thighs, leaning close. He would happily be tortured if it meant Oswald would do that to him.

“Duncan, you may believe yourself to be chivalrous, but I assure you, your employer is not. Why don’t you just tell me?” He leans closer – far too close for Ed’s liking.

He finds himself standing right behind Oswald, leaning forward as if to separate them, but instead is captivated by Oswald’s hand wrapped around the knife. He strokes it almost lovingly, and it seems to grow at his touch, stretching out to its full potential when wielded by such deliciously violent hands. He sets the tip against the man’s calf and carves upward – _his finger ghosting over Ed’s skin_ – the blade digging in and tearing flesh as he reaches his thigh – _his hand climbing up, up, up, there, right there, gripping him so tight, pulling him forward, **oh**_ – Duncan groans and gasps, head tipping back as his chest heaves with ragged breaths and Ed is forced to take a treacherous step back.

“Come now, Duncan,” Oswald purrs, and Ed can feel it like a blood-soaked hand on the small of his back. “As much as we’re enjoying this little dance, wouldn’t it be so much easier to simply tell us? To save yourself the pain?”

Duncan shudders and groans but says nothing. Ed doesn’t understand how he finds the strength not to just fall to his knees, present his wrists and give in.

Penguin sighs, hoisting himself up only to straddle Duncan’s thighs, knife against his arm. Ed’s fist clenches, nails biting bruises against his palm that bloom like roses. He tries to hang onto the pain, resisting the urge to tear forward and slit that ungrateful man’s throat, then perhaps take his place. He wouldn’t mind Oswald’s knife or his fingertips against his skin. Whichever would pleasure him the most.

Oswald grabs a hold of Duncan’s wrist, cuts the ropes so he can hold it out away from them. Slowly, he digs his knife along his skin, shaving away the molecules to reveal glorious crimson red, running down his hands and staining him vermilion. Ed wants him to use those hands to stain him too.

Duncan moans and screams, hips jutting up erratically in an attempt to shake Oswald off. But he isn’t going anywhere.

Ed licks the sweat off his upper-lip and hears the bathroom mirror call out dirty, wicked things.

Duncan chokes out syllables, and it’s ever-so-funny that the man leans forward and shudder-speaks words into Oswald’s ear.

“Okay,” He murmurs low and seductive and Ed can feel the ghost of his hand trailing down his arm. “Don’t stop talking.”

_“Don’t stop,” whispered breath in his ear, hand dipping lower, lower, **lower** as the blood-slippery knife plunges into the body again._

Oswald leans back, climbing down to kneel again, knee resting on the sofa cushion.

Ed’s throat goes dry as he contains his unspoken question of _what will he do next?_ His feet shuffle forward, the power and heat rolling off Mr Penguin in waves pulling him there. 

Penguin places the tip of his blade to the centre of Duncan's chest, and for a stomach-stirring moment, Ed thinks he will push it in, end the man's life and watch the colour drain from his eyes as the blood drains from his body. He hears Duncan babbling like a brook, voice climbing higher as Oswald begins to slice through his skin. It's not a stab, however. More like a surgical incision that curves round rather than in a straight line. 

Ed steps forward. “What are you-” Oswald’s hand snaps back to latch onto his, eyes looking up at him in illuminating steel. Slowly, Oswald guides Ed’s hand to his shoulder, indicating the left one should do the same. 

“Watch this, Ed,” He commands in that invigorating purr, apparently too caught up in the daze of blood and bone to turn it off for him.

“O-okay,” Ed agrees and dares to step closer.

Oswald guides the knife like a conductor in concerto, curling it with precision up and around. Ed holds his breath, hands kneading Oswald’s shoulders absently before he forces them to still.

“What is it?” He asks hoarsely, toes curling in anticipation of his Penguin’s masterpiece.

Oswald looks over shoulder, eyes glimmering like a frozen-over lake in sunshine. “You tell me.”

Ed turns back to the canvas, watching as Oswald deliberately wipes the blood away, leaving a scarlet line that curls into a–

“ _O-oh_ ,” He gasps. Heat pours down his spine, and his tongue peeks out between dry lips as he shudders. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel so deliriously deconstructed as he does now.

Oswald finishes carving out the question mark tail, ending with a sharp jab. The back of his head tilts. “Do you like it?”

“I-I-” Ed swallows, ankles snapping together.

He’s aroused. He can feel it. Oswald carved out a question mark onto some undeserving slab of flesh like a teenager etching out his lover’s initials onto tree bark, and now Ed’s aroused. How could this happen?

The bathroom mirror chuckles, _I told you so._

Ed’s hands retreat from Oswald’s shoulders, carefully covering up his predicament. “I-I love it.”

_I want it. Carve it on me next, please._

“Good.” Oswald turns to him with a smile and he shivers, hoping he doesn’t notice his state. Oswald’s eyes track him up and down, lips pursed in silent contemplation whilst Ed holds his breath. After a moment of strung out silence, Oswald turns back to his victim.

“Well, Duncan,” he laughs. Duncan lets out a low moan, head hanging limply. “Thank you so much for divulging all that you did. I promise-” Ed grits his teeth as Oswald lifts his hand to Duncan’s cheek, leaving a bloody trail, “It’ll all be over soon.”

_“Don’t worry,” Oswald assures him, hand bloody on his cheek as he rocks the knife into Ed’s stomach in time to his gasps, “It’ll all be over soon.”_

“Ed?”

Ed blinks, gaze snapping to him. “Yes?”

“Would you like to kill him?” Oswald offers the knife, bloody fingerprints smeared over the handle, playing off the bright silver blade. He wonders if it’s possible to achieve an autonomous sensory meridian response from the sound of a blade in his hand.

“Yes.” He nods eagerly, breathing in and out. His cheeks feel rather flushed, and there’s no air in the room; Oswald’s stolen it all. “I would like that very much.”

Oswald stands, taking him by the wrist _(bloodied fingers deliciously scarlet against pale skin)_ , guiding him to kneel in his place.

He inhales slowly, stomach shuddering on the exhale as Oswald rests his hands on his shoulders.

“Relax for me,” He whispers, breath blowing heaven in his ears.

_“Relax for me.” His fingers inside, twisting, pulling, releasing._

Ed’s abdomen tightens, his gut throbbing want. The knife in his hand brings back Doughty, the night air and the train and the blood, the _blood_ , so much glorious blood, slicking through his hands. He’d laughed and been reborn.

“How do you want to do it?” Oswald asks, looming over him. Ed can feel his apron brush his shoulder.

“Something new,” He whispers, feels the knife quiver in his grip. He reaches up to Duncan’s neck, feels for his pulse, pounding against his fingertips. He can’t wait to take it away.

“Asphyxiation?” Oswald questions and Ed can feel something brush against his hair.

“No,” He shakes his head and feels it again, “No, I’ve done that before.” Kristen’s glassy eyes swam in his gaze. “No, I was thinking I could slit his throat.”

“Good choice,” Oswald agrees, chuckling darkly, spikes up his spine. “Would you like me to show you how, or would you rather find out yourself?”

Ed sucks his tongue, blinking rapidly as he attempts to shift into a better position. “W-well, I wouldn’t be opposed to you showing me.”

He thinks he feels teeth graze his ear, but they disappear too quick for him to be truly sure.

“How about–” Ed stiffens as he feels Oswald’s right-hand glide down his shoulder, sneaking further until his blood-crusted fingers are wrapped around his wrist, “–We do it together?”

Oswald’s chest is pressed against his back, and Ed swallows if he wonders; if he can feel Oswald’s heartbeat, can he feel his?

“T-together sounds good,” He replies shakily, feeling offbeat like the moment after he trips and he doesn’t quite know whether he will manage to catch himself or if he’ll simply fall.

“Excellent.” Oswald grins – he can feel it in his hair, curls springing loose from the electricity in the air. Oswald’s fingers slip even further down until their intertwined with his. “Shall we?”

Ed can scarcely breathe, let alone speak, so he nods, eyes blinking the humming world quiet for a moment until he opens them again. Oswald guides his hand up to Duncan’s neck once more, the tip of the blade pressed to his skin.

“The artery is over here. Don’t cut at it directly, you’ll just give yourself a blood shower. Which might be fun, but isn’t extremely practical,” Oswald recites.

Ed knows this, of course. He took anatomy in college, studied these things. He’s a forensic scientist. But even having Oswald explain things he already knows is entertaining to him somehow.

“So, make the incision here:” He indicates with the knife, grip shifting around Ed’s fingers. “Nice and quick.”

_Oswald pressing him against the cabinet, hands already buried dirty and deep in his guts. “Nice and quick.”_

“Will do.”

Slowly, Oswald’s hand retreats and Ed is left to kill Duncan on his own. Ed slaps his cheek until he startles back to consciousness, eyes widening into focus as he gazes down at him. There’s still a smudge of red on his cheek. Ed licks his lips.

“I just wanted to say goodbye. And–” He leans in close, wrinkling his nose at Duncan’s stench, feeling his free hand grip his hair to pull his hair back in his anger, “Oswald’s mine. You don’t deserve to have him kill you.”

Duncan’s eyes blink confusion until Ed pulls back and cuts the cord, arm jerking as he slits his throat cleanly. Blood spatters across his glasses, spotting the world in red, and a laugh escapes his throat, curling out and shuddering under his ribs. Blood pours from Duncan’s neck, red and dripping, and he reaches up, pressing his hand to the slit then taking it away to see it covered in blood.

 _He_ did that.

He giggles, the knife falling away, as both hands clasp the dead man’s neck, blood staining his skin, dripping lines down his forearms. How glorious.

“Don’t stem the flow, Ed,” Oswald instructs him softly.

“Oh, of course!” He nods enthusiastically, laughter still stringing out his voice.

“May I take a look at your work?” Oswald asks.

“Please do.” He stands and gives him space.

He laughs again as Oswald kneels in his place, hand reaching up and searching through the blood to find the wound.

“Excellent job, Edward,” he hums, and Ed’s spine tingles and his stomach twists and he’s riding high and he _wants_ him. “Might I suggest maintaining more control on the upturn next time so the cut doesn’t curve so much at the end? Otherwise, you’ve done splendidly. You should be proud.”

Ed looks away, feeling flustered. His blood is boiling – surging and rushing to places it shouldn’t be. He rubs his blood-slicked hands together, the sound wet in the quiet room.

“I suppose we should clean up,” Oswald suggests. Ed looks up to see him removing his apron, blood splatter on his face and chest, slick scarlet coating his fingers and arms like silken ball gloves. Ed wants to lick it up, or maybe add his own blood to the canvas.

“Y-yes,” He blinks, sees the world reshape and reform as he focuses again. It’s the blood on his glasses making things blurry. The world tosses back and forth like a rocky ship and he feels unsteady, breath coming even faster as Oswald tilts his head and idly runs his index finger down the flat of the blade. “I-I might need a moment to sit down.”

He staggers backwards until he spots the edge of his bed and sits down quickly. An amputated leg dropping to the floor.

“Ed?”

He swallows as Oswald follows him, head tilted as he comes to stand before him. “Ed, you’re getting blood all over the sheets.”

_Oh dear._

_Oswald’s bloodied fingers trailing over his skin, scarlet hand slamming onto the mattress as he slams into him._

_What a mess._

“What a mess,” He breathes, unseeing until Oswald steps closer into his space, taking away his oxygen. 

“Ed?” He towers above him, and Ed’s thighs press together tightly, cock pulsing because Oswald could so easily push him back, climb on top of him, spill his insides over the sheets or something else entirely.

“I-I’m fine.” He’s in a daze, flashes of images capturing his mind – Oswald blood soaked hand, a knife, his tongue, a gun, his lips.

“Ed?” Oswald doesn’t believe him, and when Ed blinks at him he can still see that dangerous spark in his eyes like he might drag him to the floor by his hair or teach him how to really slit a throat.

“I-I can’t say.” It’s petrifying, this devine want, Oswald so close but inaccessible. The moment the words leave his mouth there will be no denying it. The bathroom mirror is right. He wants it.

“Ed.” Oswald’s so close and he grabs his chin, makes him meet his eye. “What is it?”

Ed tries to shake his head but Oswald’s grip is strong, sending him gasping.

“Tell me, Edward.”

He licks his lips. “I want you to plunge your knife into my stomach until I’m crying out and begging for it.” He swallows and Oswald’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair. “But I think I’d prefer you kissing me instead.”

Silence hangs in the cold apartment for far too long – Ed’s mind racing, whirling as he faces the truth in what he just said.

“Yes,” Oswald finally states, dragging a bloodstained thumb across his lips. He peeks his tongue out for a taste. “Let’s settle for the safer option.”

He can barely believe it, but this really happening, and Oswald leans down to press their lips together, tasting of blood and bullets and violence and Ed _moans_ because this is everything he needs. There’s a slip of a tongue inside his mouth and he welcomes it gratefully, feels it drag over his own to scrape against his palate.

He shudders, pulling back to look through his foggy, blood-spattered glasses as Oswald places a scarlet hand on his shoulder and uses it as leverage to straddle him.

“Oh,” he breathes wetly, feeling it when Oswald’s crotch presses down over his own. “Please.” He needs more.

Oswald’s bloodied hand slips down his chest, leaving a trail behind. “Oh dear,” he murmurs sweetly. “There’s blood on it now. We’ll have to get it off.”

Ed’s breath hitches and he nods, helping Oswald peel the shirt up and off.

“That’s better,” He purrs, hand sliding blood over his chest.

“O-oh.” Ed clamps his mouth shut, breathing heavily through his nose to keep the moans behind his teeth.

Oswald’s eyes drop down to his lips again, brow lifting inquiringly. “Again?”

“O-okay.” Ed welcomes him in, tongue tasting like red summer, a rusty storm. Oswald presses against him, hot and hard, and Ed lets himself be guided, laying back on the bed with Oswald heavy on top. He likes the weight, likes how grounded he feels, like all of this is really happening and he’s not staring into the bathroom mirror wishing this was real.

Oswald grinds his hips down, pressure against Ed’s length, and he makes a sound like a groan.

“Oh dear,” his tongue tumbles as their lips part for a heated breath. He gasps, feeling Oswald roll down onto him again and again, and again, and again.

_Oh dear._

“Talk to me, Ed,” Oswald gasps into his mouth, one hand trailing blood through his hair and down his face, the other pressed over his chest so he can cant their hips together. “Tell me what you want.”

Entrails and rose petals. Entrails and rose petals.

“I want you–” Ed stammers out.

“Want me to what?” Oswald’s hips push forward and Ed can feel his erection through the layers, hard and hot against his own. He must want this.

“Want you to kill me–” _oh dear,_ “I mean, to–”

Oswald smirks at him, hips stopping their movement to he can smear blood across his cheek. “If I were to kill you, Edward,” he begins and Ed might just faint, “I would take my time. Go slow and deep until no life remains.”

“O-oh.” He swallows his tongue.

“I could kill you right now if I wanted to,” Oswald breathes, lips brushing the shell of his ear – _so close_. “Leave you waiting here, desperate for my touch while I go take the knife you killed that man with.”

Ed’s length twitches in the confines of his trousers, hips bucking reflexively, and Oswald grabs onto his thigh, nails digging in hard as a reprimand.

“Then I might come back here if I think you want it enough,” He continues, hand beginning to slide up and down his leg – never high enough. “I’ll tie you to the bed frame just in case.”

“You can trust me, Mr Penguin!” He gasps, hands kneading the bedsheets. “I would never run from you.”

Entrails and rose petals.

_I could never run from you._

“I know, Eddie dear,” He purrs, hand sliding wetly in his hair. “I just think you’d look rather dashing, spread out for my knife.”

Entrails and rose petals.

“O-okay.” His mind is swirling around the shower drain, blood washing off guilty hands.

“I’d tease you at first,” Oswald continues, raking his fingernails over his ribs. “Press my knife against your skin until you were begging for it.”

“Please,” He gasps, head tossing and hips stuttering, “Please.”

“And then…”

“And then?” He breathes, swallowing down his groans to focus on Oswald once more.

“And then, I won’t be able to control myself,” Oswald leans down, lips by his ear. “And I’ll push my knife into you over and over and over–” He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips, his fingers pointed and jabbing into Ed’s ribs in a dagger made of flesh and bone, “–And over and over again.”

“O-Oswald!”

“I would rip out your spine with my teeth, chew it up and swallow.”

“Oh dear.” Ed feels very light-headed. “Oh dear.”

“Then again,” Oswald smirks and Ed knows it means something devastating – he’s being controlled by the storm, steered towards the hurricane by a homicidal maniac with a spot of blood in his teeth, “If I did that, I wouldn’t be able to see you like this.”

Mr Penguin’s hand reaches for his zipper, dragging the metal tag down.

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear–” Ed closes his eyes against the onslaught, the overwhelming stimuli like a thick concoction in his head, dripping red onto his clean sheets.

“That’s it, Edward, let go for me,” Oswald murmurs by his ear, the huffs of breath at his own exertion staining hot like fog on a bathroom mirror. “Your life is in my hands.”

And, all at once, he feels it, his sides splitting open to allow organs and blood to pour out in bursts, the world blurring away as his soul descends, Oswald Cobblepot’s hand dragging blood and grime through his hair as he holds him through his little death of ecstasy.

Edward is still alive though when he opens his eyes and sees Oswald, bottom lip shiny and caught between his teeth.

“Wow,” He gasps, feels the word escape like the first butterfly in Spring, or the first rose petal falling. Oswald’s pupils are wide and dark and Ed shifts to feel him hard up against him. “Oh, Mr Penguin, may I?”

Oswald lets out a breath and nods. “Please.”

There’s still blood on Ed’s hands, but he doesn’t think Oswald will mind.

“Clothes,” he gasps, sighing in relief as Oswald sits up and sheds what remains of his stained clothing.

Oswald crawls back to him, shifting his weight off his weaker side. Ed grins. “Isn't it amazing how the human body can adapt? We can put it through so much, and still, it finds a way. We're lucky, you and I, we get to see how long we can tip the scales until they fall over!” 

Oswald presses their lips together forcefully and Ed moans into it, tracing bloody hearts over his bare arms. “You talk too much.” He breaks away.

“I have a lot to say.” He wants to feel Oswald's skin, find the dips, bumps, divets and scars.

“Then talk faster,” Oswald growls.

He nods quickly. “What should I do? I want to be good for you.”

“Anything,” Oswald dismisses, stroking his thumbs over his cheekbones. “You’re so gorgeous with blood on you, I won’t take long.”

Ed hisses in a breath and nods, his cheeks hot as he drags his blood-soaked hands over Oswald’s bare chest. What was once a wound on Oswald’s shoulder is now a scar, beautifully mottled and twisted, a mesh of nerves. “You make me want to do terrible things, Mr Penguin.”

“What kind of things?” He bites a sudden kiss on Ed’s shoulder and it’s delicious.

“Draw hearts on your skin with the blood of the people who’ve hurt you,” He whispers, tracing lines over Oswald’s thighs. “But right now I just want to make you come.”

“Go on then,” he grunts, taking Ed’s bottom lip between his teeth. It’s endlessly fascinating and distracting, but Ed has enough of his mind online to move his right hand to Oswald’s cock and stroke it firmly. Penguin makes a noise in his throat, jerks his body forward a bit before settling. _Fascinating fascinating fascinating._

The blood on his hand is still wet and it works to make his strokes quick and slick, watching Oswald’s face as he squeezes his eyes shut and loses himself. _He’s doing this, it’s him in control, pushing Oswald to the edge, oh dear, oh dear._

Oswald’s fingers dig prints into his shoulders. “You-you’re not so talkative anymore, huh?”

“Concentrating,” He explains, watching the way Oswald licks and bites his lips like some delicious meal has been laid out before him. “You’re endlessly fascinating.”

“You-you’re… doing good at this,” He huffs, pushing up into his fist. Ed has never actually done _this_ before. “Could you just – _hnngh_.” He moans. “Faster?”

“Y-yes.” He leans closer, rubs harder, feels him grow swollen in his hand. Pistoning back and forth, it’s him killing Doughty all over again, plunging the knife into him over and _over_ , pressing down Oswald’s flesh again and _again_.

Oswald groans, low and deep. “You’re killing me, Eddie.” His fingers push blood through his hair. “You’re killing me.”

And what a delicious death it is when Ed can see the rose petals on his scarlet stained skin and the entrails chewed out on his tongue.

“Oh God.” His chest is heaving and it really is like he’s dying now, turning gold into stone, life flashing in those sea glass eyes as he breathes his last breath.

_Don’t hold too tight, boy. You’ll squeeze the oxygen out of the water._

Oswald dies in his arms, no longer breathing as he quakes. Ed laughs, adrenaline stamping his heart to watch a brilliant man come over his fist, letting him suck power from his cock like it was wine from God’s palm.

_Your death tastes like milk and honey._

Oswald starts breathing again, a sweet rose petal furrow in his brow as he opens his eyes again.

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met,” Ed tells him. “I want to watch you do that again.”

“I bet you do,” he laughs like he’s ugly, like he doesn’t see the rose petals. Ed has to show him the rose petals.

He sits up, kisses him hard. He sputters. “Ed, I’m trying to catch my breath here.” He backs away, embarrassed. “Give me a second and you can kiss me again.” Ed grins. He can wait. He’ll wait forever if he has to.

Oswald’s fingers flirt with his skin, sneaking across his collarbone to his cheek. “You have blood in your hair.”

“I do?”

He nods. “And everywhere else.” Ed feels another giggle bubble out. “We should shower.”

The night sky roils outside as they drag each other to the bathroom, press up against the shower glass and let the hot water sluice them wet. Bloodied sheets lay tangled, destined to be burnt in the morning. And under the lights and steam, Ed learns that they don’t need bloodstains to be beautiful.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Yup.
> 
> Ya know I love them comments, replying to them comments, seeing your kudos, they make me smile, you beautiful people, hit those buttons, like and subscribe, welcome to my youtube channel
> 
> Y'all, how much did I drink?


End file.
